


"There is nothing more we can do."

by Lupaatje



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Butterbeer (Harry Potter), Depressed Draco Malfoy, Leaky Cauldron, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Redeemed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 11:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20906549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupaatje/pseuds/Lupaatje
Summary: Five and a half years after ending the wizarding war, Harry is unhappy in his job as an auror.Draco has been released from prison for five months, and feels like a failure.This is not 19 years later, this is five and half years later.And this is not a happily ever after, but just two lost boys drinking in a bar.Teenage and up for language.





	"There is nothing more we can do."

**Author's Note:**

> So, after a long writing hiatus I stumbled upon the prompt "I'm sorry, there is nothing more I can do." and after some thinking what I could do with this, I came up with this. Enjoy!
> 
> Nope, I'm not J.K. Rowling, just borrowing her characters. Also, not earning any money with this.  
Although payment in kudos and comments is very much appreciated.

“I’m sorry, there is nothing more we can do.” A balding man in while healers rope told the young man.

Draco suppressed the urge to scream, shout and throw things. He had been trying for five months, after getting out of Azkaban. He had been trying so f*cking hard to get rid of it, and this man had just destroyed his last hope. He took a few calming breaths. “Can I be shown the exit?”

A charming French lady walked with him, as he was leaving the private Parisian hospital. She tried chatting to him in French, which he pretended to not understand. Of course, he understood French, he was raised as an upper-class pureblooded upstanding citizen of the British magical community – not that any of it mattered anymore. As soon as he stepped outside the door, he apparated away from the streets Paris and reappeared in London.

He walked into a bar, ignoring the muggles on the street doing their Christmas shopping with their annoying Christmas cheer and Christmas songs. None of this was good, and none of this deserved the warm and fuzzy feelings everyone seemed to have.

***

Tom ignored the boy as he walked in. His hair and clothing seemingly impeccable, but his face immediately recognizable for the publication of his deeds and the punishment he had gotten for it. Five years in Azkaban wizarding prison, and then three years of limitations on his magics, his actions, his finances and his employment.

He went on serving some other patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, most who had come in after doing there Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley, and some who had come in to warm up in between or to wait on their wives to finish shopping. When he got back to the bar, the boy had seated himself, head resting on his sleek hands, eyes looking like he was far away in his thoughts. Tom would almost pity the boy, if he hadn’t known him.

“A butterbeer and a firewhiskey, please.” The boy said, when he noticed Tom was back at the bar. Tom hesitated. He knew about the limitations of his sentence, which had prohibited the consumption of any heavy alcohols. He, however, wasn’t prohibited from selling the boy any – the boy was just prohibited from drinking. He hesitated, nonetheless. “A butterbeer and a firewhiskey, please.” The boy asked him one more time, this time more pressing.

Tom turned around and grabbed a cooled bottle of butterbeer from under the counter and put it in front of the boy together with a fresh glass. He then waited for a second. “You also sure ‘bout that firewhiskey, boy?” he asked. The boy merely nodded dejectedly in return.

He grabbed a glass and turned around to fill it with the firewhiskey. Turning back, he put the glass of whiskey in front of the boy while avoiding the grey eyes.

***

The first gulp of sweet and cold butterbeer warmed him from the inside and cheered him up a little bit. The first sip of firewhiskey took away the edge of pain playing in his mind. Draco played with both glasses, one in each hand, alternating drinks while staring of in the distance, not seeing much of what was happening in the pub.

***

A few miles away, in the Ministry of Magic, in the Auror Headquarters, the auror leading the rehabilitation-division got an automated warning that one of their rehabilitating ex-convicts was drinking in the Leaky Cauldron. Auror Robins grunted, while looking around his office. “Potter”, he called, “you’re up, we’ve got an ex-convict drinking in the Leaky.”

***

Harry Potter apparated directly into Diagon Alley. Oh, how he hated working in this particular part of the auror division. He sighted, before finding the entrance to the put, while trying to escape the shoppers. There were still a lot of people paying attention to him – partially because he was wearing auror ropes, and even after five-and-a-half year of peace in the wizarding war most people were still weary of trouble, and partially because he was the bloody boy-who-lived-twice.

He entered the bar, and immediately saw the blond drinking at the bar – an empty glass of firewhiskey in one hand and an almost empty glass of butterbeer in the other. Some people in the bar looked around and started whispering as he walked up to the bar and sat down next to the blond, but he ignored them.

“Malfoy, in accordance with your sentence you’re not allowed to drink heavy alcohols. The rehabilitation division of the auror unit of the Ministry of Magic has been alerted of your non-compliance with the rules of your sentence carried out five years and five months ago.” Harry said, the speech almost automated within his brain after spending the past few months working in this division.

Malfoy didn’t even bother to look up. He just kept swirling around his remaining butterbeer in his glass.

***

Why did they send Potter of all people? Didn’t their precious savior have anything better to do than talk ex-deatheaters out of drowning their sorrows?

He kept turning around his glass of butterbeer, almost mesmerized with the swirling yellow golden liquid inside.

“Tom, could I have two butterbeers?” he asked, the brokenness he felt inside catching up with his voice as the alcohol lowered his defenses.

When he got two new bottles, and one new glass, he pushed one glass and a bottle to Har- Potter. He looked at him, while keeping his head low and whispered “Cheers, to my failure.”

***

Harry Potter was speechless, and without thinking he accepted the bottle of butterbeer.

“Why are we drinking, Malfoy?” He asked. The blond moved slightly at the use of his name.

“To celebrate my failure.” The blond answered without elaborating anymore. “And please don’t call me that, I don’t want to be like a Malfoy.”

Harry did not know how to response to that statement, and just blurt out the first thing he was thinking. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Call me Draco.” The short reply came again, as the boy next to him took another swig of his butterbeer, now ignoring the glass and drinking directly out of the bottle.

Harry was silent for another moment, absentmindedly pouring his butterbeer in the provided glass and drinking a bit – not conscious of the fact that he should not drink while working, especially with the person he was send to reprimand. “Draco,” he said, as if testing out the words in his mouth, “care to explain why we are drinking before I formally reprimand you for doing so and you promising me that you would not do it again?” Harry did not really mean it, he hated this line of work – telling people that were already broken from spending years in prison that they could not even be free outside of it.

Draco was silent for a minute and stopped drinking his butterbeer. His hands were gripping the bottle, knuckles turning even whiter than the normal color of his light skin. “For five months I’ve been trying to get rid of it, seeing specialists on tattoos, scars, curses and skin damage – no one can do anything for me. I’ve been branded forever.”

Harry did not understand, but before opening his mouth he watches as Draco unconsciously scratched his left forearm. Realization hit him like a cauldron full of bricks – the Dark Mark.

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

***

It almost sounded as if Potter actually meant it. As if Potter, in the middle of his perfect life, could muster a grain of understanding for the mistakes and regrets of another. He took another swig of butterbeer and tried to relax his hand around the bottle not wanting to keep gripping it like a lifeline.

“So, Potter, why are you drinking?” He asked, curious what caused the young auror to accept the drink so easily. “Wouldn’t you get _reprimanded_ for drinking on the job with the person you were supposed to reprimand?”

Potter sighted. “I honestly couldn’t care less. I hate this job and I am a terrible auror.” Harry felt silent again, and tried to distract himself by looking around in the pub, and anyone who could possibly be overhearing their conversation – but most people were far enough away, of too busy snogging their own business.

“Turns out you’re not actually that good in the saving-people-thing?” Draco asked.

“I still did a decent job of that, and of practical defense – it just turns out I suck at bureaucracy, red tape and rules. Who would have guessed that?” Potter answered with a rhetorical question, before adding. “Snape, probably.”

Draco grinned. That did sound kind of like Potter’s thing.

***

“So have you really exhausted all your options to deal with that thing?” Harry asked, diverting the subject away from himself.

Draco sighted, grin fading from his face. “Yes, I’ve tried Brittan, Scandinavia, India, China, and France. There is not much left to try.”

Harry felt a familiar feeling of guilt returning. Not for the first time he thought about the powerful Elderwand that had been in his possession, and about the final resting place it was currently in. Shouldn’t he have kept it, used it to restore Hogwarts, houses of friend, help people? He did not know how to respond, and just remained silent.

After five minutes of silently drinking their butterbeers, both beers had been finished and Harry got up. “Well, Draco, consider yourself formally reprimanded. I’ll go looking for a quick sobering potion and have to return back to the office. You should also go home.”

Before Draco could respond, however, the door of the Leaky Cauldron slammed open and Auror Robins, head of Harry’s division, stepped inside. With one look, he saw Draco, and Harry, and the empty bottles of butterbeer. “Drinking on the job, Potter?” his voice boomed through the pub, silencing the other patrons and shocking two cats lying leisurely on a table.

“I apologize, Auror Robbins.” Harry responded hastily.

“There is no need Potter. We have no use for you anymore, consider your contract terminated effective immediately.” Auror Robbins barked, before stepping out again.

The other people inside the Leaky Cauldron slowly started up their conversations, more then one set of people whispering while looking at Harry and Draco. It took a few moments for Harry to get back to his senses, but he did not feel angry of sad, just a strange form of relief. “So, Draco, how about another butterbeer?”

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my quick written one-shot. I hope you liked it.
> 
> I was struggling a bit how to end it, but chose for an open ending. Feel free to imagine any future you want with this.


End file.
